Moving

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              Packing my pictures into the large box, I begin to glance at each one. I placed memory after memory into the box. Some brought smiles, but others broke my heart. I placed each in the container.

         I laughed when I noticed a photograph with my oldest child after his first New Year party. His father and I was saying good night before leaving. I was dressed in a old fashioned costume of the colonial dresses that women wore long ago. His father wore a long dull white robe. He was a man with a sliver beard leaving the past year behind for the new generation. My eighteen month son was dressed in a snow suit, and we had put a cloth diaper over it. He was our baby New Year.

         I can not believe that I am moving my children from sunny Florida to Toronto. After I closed the lid to the pictures, I notice my youngest son pack his toys. One after another he placed them in boxes. Then he found a group of dinosaurs. He picked them up each, checked it out, and pushed it into his pockets.

         I could not resist the chance to tease the little fellow. “Hey, Dinosaur Smuggler, why are you putting your toys in you pockets?”

         My five year old answers me with a smile on his face, “I have had them since I was a baby, and they are old. I think that they would be more comfortable riding in the car with us than bouncing in the truck.” I smiled.

         It was time to leave, and I grabbed the platter of crackers and Brie. It would be our snacks for the long trip to our new home.

         One more look at the house that I had raised my family. I could still hear the words being screamed. “You are a cheating wife!” I pull out of the drive way knowing that I didn't have to be accused of anything I didn't do again by the man that is supposed to love me.